𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚~𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞 | 𝟐𝟏+

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫| 𝐊𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥

The air in the dungeon of Raizada Sunhara Mahal was dense with the stench of damp stone and despair. The flickering light of a single torch danced on the cold walls, casting erratic shadows that seemed alive. 

Chains clinked faintly as Nadeen Siddique hung from iron cuffs bolted to the ceiling. His wrists, raw and bleeding, bore the weight of his exhausted body. His head lolled forward, strands of disheveled hair sticking to his sweat-soaked face. Yet his eyes, half-open and hazy, carried a defiant glint, even as his body trembled.

Across from her stood a figure cloaked in shadows, their face obscured by a black cloth. Only their eyes, a piercing brown that burned with relentless determination, were visible. The figure paced slowly, boots tapping against the cold stone floor. In their hand was a gleaming blade, its edge catching the faint torchlight.

"Where is she?" the figure asked again in a famine voice low and controlled but laced with a quiet rage that promised no mercy.

Nadeen coughed, his dry throat rasping painfully. He forced a weak smile; blood smeared across her lips. "Do you think I'd tell you... even if I knew?" His voice was hoarse, each word a struggle, yet filled with defiance.

The masked figure stepped closer, her presence oppressive. She raised the blade, holding it just beneath Nadeen's chin, the cool metal biting against his skin. "I will ask you one last time," she growled. "Where is she?"

From the far corner of the room, a slow, grating laugh echoed, sharp and mocking. "Oh, Nadeen," a voice purred, dripping with venomous amusement. "How quickly you forget who they're dealing with."

The masked figure turned, their gaze falling on a man slouched casually against the wall, his wrists and ankles chained but his demeanor utterly unbothered. Wasim, a man with wild, unkempt hair and a grin that sent chills down spines, was enjoying the spectacle like a connoisseur of misery. His eyes gleamed with an almost childlike glee, a stark contrast to the cruel world around him.

"She's somewhere you'll never find," Wasim taunted, his voice sing-song. "You can twist me, carve me, or bleed me dry, but the answer isn't in him. It's in me."

The figure turned back to Nadeen, their grip on the blade tightening. They tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet their unrelenting gaze. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Nadeen's lips quivered, and for a moment, it seemed he might break. But then he spat, the glob landing inches from the figure's boot. "Wasim loves to hear himself talk. Don't you, you bastard?"

The person clapped their hands, the sound echoing mockingly. "Oh, Nadeen! Still fiery, even when you're one scream away from oblivion. Admirable." He grin widened, exposing teeth like a predator's. "But it's true. 'She' is beyond your reach, masked one. Somewhere even your righteous fury cannot touch."

The figure's patience snapped. They grabbed Nadeen's arm and twisted it, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Enough of your riddles!" they snarled, their voice rising for the first time. "How is she? And where is she?"

Nadeen bit his lip, blood trickling down his chin as she forced herself to stay silent. The masked figure slammed him against the wall, the sound reverberating through the dungeon. His head drooped, but still, she didn't speak.

Wasim chuckled darkly. "Oh, how melodramatic. You're wasting your time, my lady. Nadeen doesn't break easily. Not without... let's say... incentives."

The figure turned to him, their brown eyes narrowing. "Then perhaps you'll break instead."

Wasim's laughter grew louder, almost maniacal. "Me? Break? Oh, you sweet fool." He leaned forward as far as his chains allowed, his grin widening until it seemed it would split his face in two. "Do your worst. But remember this—I don't need to tell you anything. You'll find out soon enough, and when you do, you'll wish you hadn't."